


Branded

by benedictcumberlongpond, WrenAndPoppy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrenAndPoppy/pseuds/WrenAndPoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commissioned work for shotasammy, written in collaboration with the impeccable Wren (wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com). Rogue M!Hawke and Fenris Soulmate AU, set as canon as possible. I won't lie, this fic got completely away from us.</p><p>All of Thedas knows about the infamous “soulmate curse,” but that doesn’t mean Hawke believes in “soulmates.”  You touch someone, there’s a zap, you get some funny mark on your hand, so what.  It’s not the same as love.</p><p>Warnings: This will spoil almost all of Fenris’s character arc, but it won’t spoil much else.  Contains explicit mansex and lots of feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Branded

Heavy cloud cover had left Hightown grey-hued and warm, sporadic drizzling rain doing less in the way of cooling, and more in the way of making it look like even the _buildings_ were sweating.

Hawke’s feet were whisper-quiet on the cobblestones, out of habit more than necessity. He was wearing light armour, the leather digging in under his armpits and gathering sweat at his lower back, giving off a low _squeaking_ noise that made all his senses jar in annoyance. He was used to being quiet, a shadow, a whisper in the dark announced only by the snick of a blade…

He pushed the dark thoughts out of his head, taking the steps two at a time down to Low Town where Varric was waiting for him at _The Hanged Man_. A stiff drink and good company would drive the darkness and the silent knives out of his head. He hoped.

There was a crowd gathered at the door, a writhing mass of sweaty locals and low gasps. Hawke frowned. The throng was so thick he wasn’t sure he would be able to get inside the bar.

“What’s going on?” he asked the nearest person, a tall woman in loose fitting clothing.

The woman smiled brilliantly at him. “Soulmates!”

Hawke fought the urge to roll his eyes. He craned his head, trying to see over the crowd, trying to find a way through. He didn’t understand how people could get so damn excited over this that they would keep a man from his drink.

The Soulmate’s curse was aptly named. It was a magic that had existed for thousands of years, stewing like a virus in the races of men and otherwise. Andraste was said to have begun it, allowing people to find their other half in a world of turmoil, the person who would be able to bring comfort. If you believed in that sort of thing.

Amid the superstition, there were several undeniable facts: the instant you touched your “soulmate,” whether you believed they were a soulmate or not, you would both be irreversibly, _physically_ branded. Famous warriors bore the marks, teams of two who were said to be unstoppable in combat due to their fighting styles in tandem – like a four armed beast, the palms of each scarred with the mark.

 _The mark_ – Hawke could see it from the door, the couple staring at each other in amazement while the crowd around them cheered and smiled, congratulating them. It was a diminutive elf and a serving girl, their hands open to each other as they looked at their soulmate’s design, a scar on the hand in the shape of a nonsense swirl – like war paint or a decorative tattoo, or the unique whorls on the pad of a thumb. The moment of discovering your soulmate was supposed to be a powerful one, described in many different ways by those who had experienced it. There were rumours that the couple could read each other’s thoughts for the few seconds they were branding one another, and it certainly looked like the two women were in each other’s heads.

“Hawke!” Varric’s voice called over the mass. Hawke caught the dwarf’s eyes through the crowd, and squirmed through the door with a muttered _excuse me._

 _Soulmates._ Hawke found the entire idea ridiculous. He had grown up staring at his mother’s blank palms, knowing that love was real by the way she tucked him into bed or kissed his forehead. Love? Hawke could believe in that – but soulmates? Even when it was in front of him, he was loath to agree that they were real.

The serving girl would likely dump the elf as soon as times got difficult.

“So what’s the letter?” Varric asked, climbing up onto a stool as Hawke joined his table, accepting the offered ale Varric had already purchased for him.

“From Athenril, wants us to meet a dwarf named Anso tonight somewhere around here.” Hawke nodded towards the door. “Standard work.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Varric smiled, leaning forward to put his empty tankard on the table. Hawke noticed, not for the first time, the small crossbow shaped scar in the middle of Varric’s palm.

—-

The box was empty.

“Was the real treasure friendship?” Hawke asked the gathered party, but none of them looked impressed, blood spattered and sucking in gasps of air. The adrenaline of combat was still hot and pumping in everyone’s veins.

“Let’s get out of here,” Aveline suggested, wiping red smears out of her hair and readjusting her grip on her sword.

Hawke nodded. He flicked strings of blood off his daggers and sheathed them, one on each shoulder.

—-

The night had not cooled the air, and Lowtown seemed to be congealing with the smell of blood and sex. Hawke’s own party was contributing significantly to one of those, he knew. Hawke sighed as he pushed the door open, praying for a breeze.

He was greeted, instead, with another enemy. No sooner were they through the door than a man wearing polished armour and a derisive sneer strode towards them down the narrow street.

“I don’t know who you are, friend, but you’ve made a serious mistake coming here tonight.” The man turned up his nose in scorn at the group, not seeming alarmed to be outnumbered. He shouted a command to the empty alley. “Lieutenant! I want all the men in the clearing, now!”

Hawke cursed under his breath and unsheathed his daggers. _All the men._ He wondered how many “all” was. If they were about to be faced with a dozen angry Tevinter soldiers, he didn’t like his odds – 

In response to the call, a single armored man staggered out from around a corner, his steps halting. Something about his movements, his gurgling breaths, set Hawke’s teeth on edge. The man choked out a strangled “C – cap-tain – ” before collapsing to the cobblestones in a pool of blood.

“Your men are dead,” a voice rumbled from behind the same corner. The voice was low, snarling, thick with Tevinter accents and hatred. “And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can.”

Something about that _voice_ cut straight to Hawke’s bones, even before the speaker stepped around the corner and into his view, striding carelessly over the fallen man.

For a moment, the grimy street and the sticky weather and the thick reek of blood melted away, and Hawke could look at nothing else. The man was decidedly _other,_ beautiful in the way lightening is beautiful, terrifying in the same way. 

Hawke’s breath caught and his hands stuttered, knuckles readjusting against the hilts of his weapons as his eyes tried to look at too many things at once.

He focussed first on the smooth, dark skin covering muscle tone that seemed to ripple and pull taut – barely contained rage and strength lurking under the surface, shifting like the tattoos that glowed along his arms and under his armour, up over his chin and winding around his throat. 

His ears were pointed elegantly into the waves of white hair, his pale green eyes focused on Hawke’s group rather than the man who had first spoken. The elf moved like a wolf, slow and regal and hungry, fearless. He barely seemed to flinch when the armoured captain advanced and grabbed his shoulder with a snarl.

“You’re going nowhere, _slave!”_

The elf’s lip twitched. Then the pale lines that riddled his body glowed to violent life, almost blinding. He spun, and his hand shoved against the chest of the man, _into_ his chest, bursting impossibly out the back through solid plate. The man choked, letting out a long, terrible gasp. Turning his nose up at the dying man like he was being forced to touch something unclean, the elf shoved the body away, and it tumbled dead to the dirty street.

“I am not a slave,” he rumbled, and Hawke felt that baritone all the way in his stomach. When the elf’s pale eyes lifted again, Hawke’s knees nearly buckled.

 _No, not a slave._ The thought rose unbidden to his whirling brain, and he couldn’t say where it came from. _Never that, not you. But what_ are _you?_

—-

In a turn of divine bad luck and irresponsible decision making, Hawke found himself outside of a Tevinter Magister’s mansion in Hightown with his daggers drawn, standing next to an attractive elf – a complete stranger, by the way – with Anders behind him and Aveline in front.

Fenris. The name was as snarling as the man, and Hawke couldn’t say why, but he liked that. He liked everything about Fenris in ways that didn’t make sense. He supposed the term for this was _chemistry,_ but he’d never felt it like this before.

Just glancing at the elf made him want to rip the man’s clothes off.

“Ready?” Fenris asked, white teeth sparkling in the patchy moonlight, his tattoos glowing.

“ … Yes. Yes, of course.” Hawke tore his eyes away and tried to focus on the task at hand rather than the fog of arousal and attraction that was sneaking into his brain.

He felt like a teenager again, palms sweating inside his gloves as he adjusted his grip and Fenris shoved open the front door. _You’re about to enter life-or-death combat, and you’re mostly worried that the elf will catch you admiring him._

The mansion was lavish, dark in the twilight. Shades glided through the house soundlessly, their claws outstretched as they patrolled the rooms. The red glint of rage demons, too, could be seen from the doorway.

Somewhere in this mansion, Hawke hoped to find the bastard of a man who had put the pain and the anger in Fenris’s voice. His knuckles tightened on his daggers.

Hawke cast an apologetic look to Aveline before casting himself into the shadows and sneaking into the house. Maybe the sickening, rubbery grind of his knives cutting through demon flesh would distract him from the sight of Fenris fighting at his side.

—-

The first room wasn’t difficult. Hawke’s daggers struck sure and precise, delivering finishing blows and deep cuts. Their odd party made good time through the house, going room by room and backing each other.

“No sign of Danarius,” Fenris muttered when they reached some kind of storage room, the last gurgles of a demon fading into silence as Hawke looked around.

Hawke patted down the dark rags of a shade and procured a large brass key that looked terribly important. He lifted it. “Helpful, maybe?”

“The main chambers could be that locked door upstairs,” Fenris agreed. “Let’s go.”

They all ran together with matching footsteps, coming into the main foyer and skidding to a stop. Before them, demons materialized, too many, far too many. The darkness of the Fade billowed around them like death, cold glows filling the pits of their eyes, ragged claws clenching against the air.

“Ah,” Anders managed, but Aveline had already shouted her readiness and was swinging her sword at the nearest demon.

A demon surged towards Hawke, claws raised. Hawke slipped clear of the strike, avoiding it by inches, his dagger jabbing out like a striking snake before the demon could recover. The blade sunk deep, and an otherworldly screech followed. Hawke’s blade was gone as quick as it had struck, and he slipped around the back of the raging demon and was lashing into it again before it had a chance to claw at him again. With a final scream, the demon reared and collapsed to the marble floor, dissolving into dust. 

Catching his breath, Hawke’s head whipped around, his daggers held ready. He lifted one fist to wipe dark, blood-soaked hair out of his face as he assessed the battle.

Anders was clear of the fighting, throwing spell after devastating spell into the fray. Aveline was damn near buried in demons, but her defiant yells told him she was holding her own. Her sword flashed in the light from Anders’ spells as she carved down foe after foe. Hawke’s head turned in time to see Fenris’s blade thud into a wounded shade, drawing a shriek from it and driving it to the ground. His face was fearless and focused, his arms rippling as he yanked the blade free, black splatters of demon blood darkening his hair –

Hot lines of pain ripped across Hawke’s back, driving the air from his lungs in a ragged gasp. The clattering, echoing roar of a demon thundered behind him.

Fenris let out a savage shout, cutting down a demon in his path with one powerful blow from his sword. Hawke staggered and collapsed to his knees, stunned for a moment from the pain. Dizzily, he could see Fenris running towards him, lifting his blade – 

The demon lunged for Fenris with a hollow wail, its jagged claws still wet with Hawke’s blood. His face locked in a snarl, Fenris swung his sword down hard, slicing through the demon’s claws before looping the blade around and burying it in the fiend’s head, or whatever shapeless lump could be called a head. The demon spasmed and shrieked, and when Fenris yanked his blade out, it collapsed and dissolved back into mist from the Fade.

Before the dust had a chance to clear, two more demons were breaking towards them. Fenris swung his sword in an artful arc, reaching down with his free hand to help Hawke without looking away from the advancing foes. 

Something about having Fenris nearby, having this ferocious man fighting by his side, breathed strength back into Hawke’s limbs. The pain of wounds from a demon’s claws faded, leaving only fire in his chest. Hawke reached out, and their hands collided with a clap.

Searing pain shot from Hawke’s elbow down to his wrist, spreading in burning lines down the bones of his fingers as his eyes, magnetically, locked onto Fenris. Fenris was staring back at him with shock and wonder, the anger melted from his features for the first time since Hawke had met him. A single heartbeat stretched out, and all Hawke could do was stare while Fenris stared back.

Their hands felt as though they had been fused together at the palms. Time wasn’t passing, and yet somehow Hawke could feel the low _thump thump thump_ of Fenris’s heartbeat, inexplicably timed with his own. Fenris’s startled eyes seemed to swallow Hawke’s view, drowning out the moonlit mansion and the demons. 

And then, impossibly, all Hawke saw was sunlight. 

Birds, flowers, decadent marble pillars, the splashing of water from the fountain, sunlight shining off the green green grass as his young, clumsy feet pounded over it. Flowerbeds thick with pollen and bees, all swaying in the wind, safe and happy, no chores to do right now, his mother happy, his Master busy, a gorgeous sunny courtyard that seemed to stretch on for miles as he laughed and chased a girl, and she called out his name –

The scene choked suddenly, darkened into something grey and cold and salty. Fog, large shadows with gruesome horns, _fog everywhere,_ a laughing ‘Vint grinning at him, power surging through bruised veins, burning, burning, _burning._ Seheron, the damp, muddy shores, reeking with salt and seaweed, a boat disappearing on the stormy grey horizon as he stood with feet sinking in the muck, abandoned, worthless, left behind, dead wight that wasn’t worth saving. Taste of blood in the air, his hair lank and white in front of his face, the sound of fighting still ringing behind him. His hands shaking where they were clenched into fists at his side, tears hot on his face, twisted into a snarl. _Abandoned. Worthless. Left behind._

Hawke blinked. Like a blanket being lifted, the sights and sounds of the demon-filled mansion rushed back to him, and he found himself upright, hand clasped in a death grip with Fenris. 

He felt he ought to say something, but time appeared to be moving again, and there were demons to attend to. Hawke tore his eyes away from Fenris’s face and spun his dagger, striking sparks across the lashing claws of a demon and deflecting it away.

As if coming out of the same daze, Fenris shook his hand from Hawke’s grip to retake his two-hander, moving so they were back to back, facing the oncoming demons with sudden resolve. Somehow, even though the moment had passed, Hawke felt he could still sense Fenris’s heartbeat, rapid with adrenaline, pounding in time with his own.

“What was that?” Fenris snarled under his breath. There was rage and panic in his voice. “I remembered – things – there was a man named Carver –”

Hawke felt his heart tug at the sound of his brother’s name, and he jabbed at the demon in front of him, trying to focus on the combat. “It’s the soulmate curse,” he responded gruffly, trying not to think about it. “At least, I assume. Never felt it before. I suppose you only ever feel it once. They say memory sharing can be part of it.” 

Fenris slammed his sword so hard into a demon that he had to brace his boot against the corpse to yank it out. “ … Memory sharing.” His knuckles clenched on his hilt and he swung the weapon up again, and his voice was tight. “Then… those were _your_ memories. Just yours.”

Hawke grunted in response. The fog of borrowed memories still hadn’t completely left his mind. The foes that stood before him were shimmering between Fenris’s memories of Qunari warriors and the demons they were actually facing, and he had to blink and shake his head to make the images stay still as he fought.

He noted that Fenris was fighting in sync with him, blocking and ducking, letting Hawke slip in between his swinging arms to slice and jab, their combat styles somehow merging until they were fighting like a deadly machine. Demons fell around them like autumn leaves, cut down one after another after another without ever landing a touch on the two synchronized fighters. Finally, the last demon shrieked out its death with Fenris’s sword through its chest and Hawke’s dagger in its skull, and as it melted into dust, silence filled the foyer once more. Aveline stood on the stairs behind them and Anders still by the door, all four of them panting heavily as the last echoes died from the room.

Hawke huffed, straightening up out of his battle stance. His heart was pounding with something more than combat. Fighting alongside Fenris had felt… _right,_ in ways he couldn’t explain. Like his fighting style had always been missing that second person, and now all the puzzle pieces were in place. Pulse racing, still panting, he turned to see Fenris staring at him in awe.

Something clicked. The attraction surged from a schoolboy fancy into a soul-swallowing _need._ Hawke’s daggers clattered to the bloody marble floor and before he realized he was moving, he was grabbing Fenris’s lyrium-lined face in rough, gloved hands and pulling him into a searing kiss.

It was like thunder. Hawke groaned into it, feeling Fenris’s gauntlet-covered hands fisting in his leather armor, dragging him close with the same ferocity he brought to his sword. They were pressed against each other so hard that Hawke’s armor dug into his body painfully, but he didn’t care. He was starving, and this was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“ … _Hawke?”_ Aveline’s voice was dumbfounded, but Hawke couldn’t respond.

His lips were fire, his tongue sweeping across Fenris’ mouth as he held on desperately to the elf’s shoulder pauldrons. He was breathless, swells of emotions cresting in his chest like brutal waves smashing on a shore. _A distant shore, grey and grim, stained with war and death. His feet sinking into the muck._

They pulled apart with the same sudden violence of their embrace, both breathing hard, eyes locked. Hawke swallowed and let out a shuddering breath.

“ … Ok, so… so that happened,” he panted. The announcement was met with stunned silence by his party. “Let’s… talk about that later. When there’s no demons around.” He swallowed and clapped his hand on Fenris’s shoulder. “ … Upstairs now?”

Fenris’s expression was unreadable. After a moment, he nodded his agreement. Pulling away from Hawke as though doing so pained him, he turned and ran towards where Aveline was standing, mouth agape as they stepped around her.

—-

There were more demons inside, _of course,_ but they were short work now that Hawke and Fenris were synchronized with deadly precision. Anders and Aveline provided backup, but it was barely needed. The fight was over in seconds, the last demon melting away under Hawke’s daggers before silence overtook the mansion again. 

As they caught their breath, Fenris turned his enraged glare at the empty quarters where they had expected to find his former master. Danarius, the man who had kept him on a leash, who called him slave, who branded him with pale, twisting lyrium scars for his own uses. As Fenris stared at the room, Hawke stared at the back of the man’s head, wondering how on earth Andraste had decided that his one soulmate, his true love, his everything, ought to be a jaded, brooding, lyrium-covered ex-slave elf from Tevinter.

—-

“Agreggio Pavali,” Fenris rumbled behind him, and Hawke turned from the fireplace to regard the elf. “There are six bottles in the basement.”

Hawke had returned to the abandoned estate after getting Anders home safely to Low Town. Fenris had taken up residence there for reasons Hawke couldn’t begin to guess at. The mansion was still littered with shreds of fallen demons and shattered artwork from the fighting that had ripped through its halls. It was a hollow, sad place, the glitzy decor scarred by demons and battle. But something about it made Hawke wistful.

_We kissed here._

Despite the gloom of the abandoned mansion, Hawke had felt his heart getting lighter as he had approached the front door. Seeing Fenris again had made a smile break out across his lips without his body’s permission.

A sad, wretched shell of a gaudy mansion, and yet he was happy to be here.

“Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests,” Fenris continued, examining the dark bottle in his hand. The fireplace crackled as he spoke. “My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed.”

Hawke chuckled, giving the man a flirty grin. “I can’t imagine why they would be put off.”

“ … I’ll take that as a compliment,” Fenris replied with a tight smile. He took a long swig from the bottle, gulping down the drink thirstily, tipping up the bottle until the last drop slicked his lips. He lowered it, exhaling heavily, staring at the dark glass. He cocked his head, as if thinking, and then spun suddenly, slinging the bottle against the wall with a savage throw where it shattered.

His smile turned genuine as he faced Hawke again. “It’s good I can still take pleasure in small things.”

Hawke snorted a laugh, sitting down on an upturned crate and stretching out his legs. “I love a man who knows how to party.” 

It struck Hawke that he wasn’t lying. It was strange, but the more he learned about Fenris, the more he got along with the man. Fenris was hot-headed, passionate, clearly wounded by the world and clearly fighting back with everything he had, but there was always something dry and snarky in his tone as well, some levity. He had a wit that couldn’t be crushed, that perhaps would have thrived more if he’d had an easier life.

Hawke tried not to sigh. Maker take him, maybe Andraste was on to something when she picked Fenris for him.

Fenris was fiddling with his gauntlet, looking thoughtful. Hawke forced a smile to his face. The night was still young, and if this was really his soulmate, they had a lot of drinking to do together.

“Don’t stop on my behalf. There must be more alcohol in this overpriced place.”

Fenris chuckled softly, but his attention had clearly drifted. He tugged the straps until it was loose, slipping it off his hand. He presented his palm to Hawke with raised eyebrows.

“Tempting, but… I have questions, first. About this.”

There, in the centre of his palm, was a silvery swirl, entirely different from the lyrium markings that crossed Fenris’s body. Hawke slowly removed his own glove, holding his palm out for comparison. Two identical swirls stared up at the two men, and Hawke smiled self-deprecatingly.

“I never believed in soulmates,” he admitted.

“I’d heard of the curse.” Fenris frowned at the matching marks. “I’ve never seen it though, or… heard of the side effects.”

“You mean the weird burst of memories? Or are you referring to the pain?”

“Those were bad. The bodily urges are… unexpected as well.” His gaze flicked away and he coughed. A stir of heat coiled in Hawke’s chest. He tried to clear his thoughts. Fenris had questions, questions he ought to do his best to answer. Without jumping down the elf’s throat again.

“When you say… urges, you mean the…” 

Hawke’s words dried up as Fenris knelt down in front of him, suddenly on his knees between Hawke’s open thighs. The man was leaning up towards him, their faces close, too close, making Hawke’s breath flutter and his heart beat jump a few beats. He tried to come up with something to say, but all that came out was a faint, hungry breath.

Fenris leaned in, and Hawke couldn’t stop himself from leaning in as well, watching the flicker of Fenris’ eyes, feeling his wine-sweetened breath fan across his face.

“I mean this,” Fenris said sardonically.

Hawke licked his lips slowly, leaning in slightly closer. “I’m not complaining,” he teased with a smirk. 

Fenris snorted and made to stand up. A strained growl ripped from Hawke’s throat and he grabbed the elf’s collar, yanking him back down, crashing their lips together.

A soft noise escaped him at the feeling of Fenris’ lips on his, and the elf groaned against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip and kissing him deeply.

They broke apart after a moment, still sharing breath, and Hawke laughed breathlessly. “It’s – it’s so much more intense than I thought it would be. The need, I – ” His grip on Fenris’ collar loosened, his knuckles trailed up the elf’s neck, over the lyrium scars. “ … Andraste help me, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Fenris heaved a deep breath and straightened up, pulling away from Hawke’s hand. “Perhaps… it would be better if we spent some time apart.”

Hawke’s heart dropped.

“I feel very strange about it,” Fenris added quickly. Hawke was startled to see that the elf actually looked flustered. He wouldn’t meet Hawke’s eyes. “This, being so close with someone I barely know. The feelings are overwhelming, but the physical touches alone – I’m not very – I don’t normally let anyone touch me.”

Hawke tried not to let the disappointment that washed through him show in his voice. “Fenris, it’s okay, you don’t have to – ”

“I mean it,” Fenris insisted, harsh again. _“I don’t let people touch me._ Ever. My markings, they… they can hurt when they’re touched. It’s… ” Something dark twisted across Fenris’s face and he looked away. “ … It’s been used against me before.”

Hawke felt choked. He nodded, but his chest ached at the thought of avoiding Fenris. He wished it wouldn’t.

“I want to… keep going.” A thin snarl of frustration slipped through Fenris’s clenched teeth, and his eyes locked back onto Hawke’s. “I want you, I want to take you and own you and mark you, I want to do things I’ve never wanted before, but… it’s too much. It’s too soon.”

Hawke’s throat felt dry, the words _take you and own you and mark you_ flashing through his head and making it spin. If he stayed any longer, he was afraid he was going to push Fenris down onto the nearest flat surface and devour his lips again.

Pained, Hawke pulled himself to his feet, his lean limbs stiff with resolve. He kept his eyes away from Fenris so he wouldn’t be tempted further. “ … I should go.”

Fenris tensed for a moment as if wincing, but he nodded.

—-

Hawke made a point of leaving Fenris out of his party when he went on missions. He often had Merrill and Anders in his party, after all, and there was no doubt in Hawke’s mind that Fenris would react poorly to the two mages. More importantly, being around the elf at all without getting to touch him was agonizing enough, but feeling the machine-like chemistry of fighting alongside him, that fire, that animalistic rush… it would just be too much.

It grated on him, being away from the sudden object of his affection. No matter how absurd “soulmates” were, no matter how crazy it was that he was feeling this way about an elf he had only just met, thoughts of Fenris filled Hawke’s head at all hours of the day, getting filthier as the sun went down.

Revealing Fenris one inch at a time, that was what captivated Hawke. The gauntlets first. His boots. The heavy breastplate. Whatever he wore underneath… Hawke couldn’t shake the thought of exploring those lyrium tattoos, discovering the way they swirled around Fenris’ muscular body. He was large for an elf, slim by human standards but rippling with the muscle required to swing a sword as tall as he was. Hawke wanted to see that muscle up close, feel it flex under his hand. He wanted to brush his marked palm over the elf’s bare body, tracing every inch of him with fingers and tongue…

Hawke tore himself away from the fantasy and back to the battle at hand. His party clashed with a collection of Qunari warriors along the coast, their bodies thickly banded with muscle, their horns sharp and shining in the afternoon sun.

Hawke tried to focus on his daggers, on spinning and cutting, but even _that_ made him think of Fenris – the way they had fought together, how powerful they had been…

Perhaps it was for the best that Hawke invite Fenris on their next adventure, if only to give Aveline a short break. Yes. Just one mission couldn’t hurt.

The last warrior fell with a thump to the sand, and Hawke let out a breath of resolve. He would go and see Fenris tonight. It had been three days, surely the man would be okay with a visit – especially considering it was about work. Business only.

“You look like you’re about to cry,” Merrill snickered.

Hawke managed to recover into a cocky smile. “Me? I don’t cry, I just fight harder. Want to head back to Kirkwall, then?”

Anders was giving him a strange look. “ … Sure thing, Hawke. Whatever you say.”

—-

Hawke went back to his estate when he got back to Kirkwall, smiling as his mabari greeted him enthusiastically, jumping heavily into his arms and wriggling.

“Hey, girl,” Hawke greeted, burying his face in the soft hair on the back of her neck. “Did you miss me?”

She barked loudly near his ear, and Hawke laughed as he put her down on the floor gently. She immediately ran back to her bed, twisting in circles and laying back down.

Hawke climbed the stairs to his room, pulling off his gloves and flexing his hands. The mark on his palm was tingling strangely, and he rubbed it as he entered his quarters, kicking off his boots. It always felt good to come home after a fight, shrug the armor off, relax. Maybe a bath, a bite to eat, and he would go and visit –

“Hawke.” The deep voice struck him still and stole his breath. Through his pounding heart, Hawke registered that Fenris was in his chambers, striding towards him.

“Fenris?”

“I have been thinking of you.” In a heartbeat, Fenris was standing so close that Hawke could taste his breath. “In fact, I have been able to think of little else.”

Hawke whole body was tense with effort to keep himself still, to keep himself from _slamming_ the elf against the nearest wall and biting moans out of him.

“Command me to go, and I shall.” Fenris’s jaw was set with resolve.

“Don’t go.” The words were sharp, spilling out of Hawke’s mouth before he could think, but he wouldn’t have taken them back for all of Thedas. Fenris seemed to sway, tense and breathless, before his hands were tangled in Hawke’s thick dark hair, yanking him into a harsh, desperate kiss. Hawke grabbed the elf and pinned him close, moaning, each movement of lips and teeth and tongue sending jolts straight down his spine and between his legs. He spun Fenris, slamming him into the wall and kissing him savagely, letting out his frustration in licks and bites, his hands hard on Fenris’s hips. He could feel the heat of the elf’s body through their clothing, feel the hard bulge of Fenris’s arousal pressing against his hips.

He twined his fingers with Fenris’s, feeling his palm tingle as their scars pressed against each other, and he rolled his hips forward with a low groan. Fenris hissed in startled need, grabbing Hawke all the harder and shuddering against him. His hips jittered, a stuttering thrust like he couldn’t control himself. 

“What is this?” he panted through Hawke’s lips. “I know what this is, but I – I didn’t know it would be so – ”

“I know,” Hawke shushed, kissing him gently and tugging at his breastplate to pull him away from the wall, walking backwards towards the bed. 

Fenris groaned against Hawke’s lips, grabbing his hips roughly, pinning their bodies together. Hawke felt the back of his knees hit the bed, and before he could suggest they undress and climb on, Fenris placed a hand on his chest and _threw_ him back onto it. Hawke landed on the bouncy mattress with a grunt, legs open, panting up at his soulmate. He cocked a smile.

“Are you going to join me?”

Fenris hesitated for an instant, breathing hard, staring at Hawke like he was frozen. Then in one hungry motion Fenris was on top of him, one muscular thigh between Hawke’s legs as he dove back on the man’s mouth.

“Mmh – ” Hawke tangled his fingers through that soft white hair before pulling back, catching his breath. “Have you ever… with a man?” He hoped that Fenris’s hesitation was due to inexperience rather than doubt. Hawke wasn’t sure he could stop, his blood singing, palm almost burning, having Fenris against him was making him wild.

“No.” Fenris dragged his palm down Hawke’s chest, over the straps and buckles of his armor. “Not with a man… or a woman.”

Hawke pulled back, staring up at Fenris in surprise. The elf was unembarrassed in his confession, his chin set and his eyes stern.

“ … This is… a _really_ big step for you, then,” Hawke mused. “If you want to slow down – ” 

Fenris set his jaw and yanked open a strap of Hawke’s armor. “No.”

Hawke groaned as Fenris’s teeth found the exposed skin of his neck, sinking in and leaving pink marks. The elf’s hands pulled impatiently at Hawke’s armor, and Hawke scrambled to help him take it off. He unstrapped himself with the ease of practice, letting his breastplate and shoulder pauldrons loose, feeling them fall and pushing them further of the bed. Fenris tensed at the loud _crash_ as the metal fell to the stone floor, looking down at Hawke disapprovingly.

“I believe it’s your turn,” Hawke suggested with a wry smile. 

Fenris nodded, hesitating for a moment as if unwilling to pull away from Hawke, then sitting upright on the man’s hips. Hawke watched enraptured as the elf warrior shed his armor one piece at a time, leather and metal and cloth peeling away from his dark skin to reveal the muscle, the battle scars, the searing lines of lyrium that were mapped across his bare arms. Fenris’s muscles rippled as he worked, toned and bulging from a lifetime of labor and years of fighting for his life, fending off slavery and dismemberment with nothing more than his skill and a greatsword.

Hawke wanted those arms wrapped around his bare body. He wanted to see them flex in pleasure rather than rage.

Roughly, Hawke yanked his undershirt off over his head, peeling the sweaty, bloody fabric away from his skin and tossing the filthy garment away. 

Fenris froze mid-buckle, eyes wide as he took in Hawke’s shirtless body. His gaze glided down Hawke’s chest and work-flattened stomach, soaking up every detail with clear greed. Hawke’s body wasn’t something he thought about much, but playing the role of dagger in the dark had made him lean and toned, muscles built for speed more than raw power. 

In that moment, Hawke felt somewhat proud of it, the shape of his upper body under soft dustings of dark hair. He shifted on the bed and laid back, hands behind his head, smiling up at Fenris with blue eyes. “You seem to like what you see.”

Fenris’s gaze jumped from Hawke’s chest to his eyes. Instead of responding, he slowly lifted his hands and continued undressing, one segment of armor at a time. Hawke’s smug grin faltered and melted into an awestruck gape as Fenris worked with steady fingers, removing his items of clothing methodically until he was left in his pants and a soft looking undershirt. A quick movement of long arms, and the shirt was gone too, revealing the pale lyrium scars that crossed Fenris’s chest like silver rivers.

It was beautiful, and dangerous, and sad, and a flurry of emotions squeezed in Hawke’s chest. 

_“My markings, they… they can hurt when they’re touched. It’s been used against me before.”_

Hawke’s throat tightened. He realized that Fenris was avoiding his eyes, his whole body tense, trembling slightly, like he was expecting to be struck across the face.

Hawke pushed himself up on his arms, trying to meet the eyes of the man in his lap. “ … Fenris?”

“Touch me,” the elf bit out. He still wouldn’t look at Hawke. “I don’t care if it hurts. I want this.”

Hawke bit his lip. He lifted one hand, reaching towards that bare chest, then pulled it back. “Fenris – ”

“Do not ask if I am certain,” Fenris ground out, finally locking eyes with Hawke. “I am. More certain than I’ve been in a long time.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “ … Touch me.”

Hawke hesitated, then reached towards the elf’s scarred chest again. Slowly, feather-soft, he brushed his fingertips against the curling hot lines at the pit of the elf’s throat. A small shudder rippled through Fenris’s body, his white teeth worrying his lip. Hawke’s eyes flicked up to the man’s face.

“Does this hurt?” he asked gently.

Fenris shook his head silently. Gingerly, Hawke touched his fingers to one pale lyrium vein, brushing the pads down the silver curve. This time a gasp slipped out of Fenris’s lips. Encouraged, Hawke leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against the elf’s throat, ghosting his lips over the markings.

“Ah –!” Fenris’s hand tangled in Hawke’s thick, dark hair, pinning him in place. When Hawke dragged his tongue over the elf’s neck, soft and wet and warm, Fenris breathlessly spilled out a long string of curses that must be from Tevinter, because Hawke only understood one word in three.

Hawke smiled against Fenris’s collarbone, brushing his lips along the pale lines. He took it one inch at a time, keeping his movements slow and gentle, teasing his lips against the sensitive lyrium markings until Fenris was shaking and breathless. 

“Shit, _Vishante Kaffas,_ fuck, _amatus,_ Hawke –”

Hawke pressed one more kiss against the elf’s shoulder before pulling back with a smile. “You said they were sensitive. You didn’t say it could feel good.”

Fenris’s chest was heaving like he’d been fighting demons. “I d-didn’t know,” he spilled out. 

Hawke brushed his hands up the elf’s sides, slowly, feeling every contour of his fit body. His eyes wandered down Fenris’s chest, following the curving lines of lyrium, down to where they disappeared into his pants. A low noise of need escaped him and his eyes found Fenris’s again. “I want to make every single mark on your body feel good,” he groaned before pressing his mouth to Fenris’s chest again.

Fenris cursed again as Hawke’s mouth followed one curving line across the toned expanse of his pectoral, flicking his tongue against Fenris’ nipple. His hand was back in Hawke’s hair, grabbing a thick fistful of it, his other wrapped around the man’s back to pin him close.

The texture of Fenris’ skin was strange under Hawke’s tongue, rough and stiff and exuding heat near the tattoos, but impossibly soft in between. Between the scars, from lyrium and from weapons, Fenris was as soft and sweet as a new peach. Hawke placed his hands on the elf’s hips, lifting him up onto his knees, kissing all the way down to his stomach. Fenris had a scent, something earthy and musky, nearly buried by the reek of sweat and blood from his last battle. Hawke couldn’t believe that smelled good to him right now, but by the Maker it did. He moaned against the man’s skin as he worshipped every inch, until finally his teeth scraped against the leather of Fenris’s pants. He lingered there for a moment, letting his breath steam against the cut of Fenris’s hip.

Fenris was hard, a stiff bulge in the leather. Hawke chewed his lip. He glanced up at the panting elf before leaning in and brushing his lips over that hot bulge.

Fenris cursed loudly and shoved Hawke down on the bed, hand shaking in his hair. Before Hawke had time to worry that he’d done something wrong, Fenris was snarling into his mouth and biting at his lips, bare chest pressed blissfully against his own, skin on skin, grinding his hips down with raw need. Hawke moaned and arched up into the press of Fenris’s body. Fenris had him pinned to the bed with muscle that was trained to take out demons, hard cock grinding against Hawke’s own through their pants, and Hawke briefly entertained the idea of just letting go and coming in his pants right now. If Fenris kept this up, that might just happen anyway.

Fenris pulled back from Hawke’s mouth, panting, a ruddy flush heating his dark skin. His lips were slick from Hawke’s mouth, and Hawke might have kissed him again if his head wasn’t pinned to the bed by a dominant hand in his hair.

For a while, Fenris just stared at him, motionless, white hair in a disarray, breath thick with arousal. Hawke squirmed under him with a frustrated groan.

“Andraste’s tits, Fenris, if you don’t get started soon – ”

“How exactly do I do this?” Fenris cut in roughly.

Hawke fell still. He blinked up at the panting elf. “ … Maker’s breath, you really don’t know.”

Fenris let out a low growl, leaning towards Hawke’s lips and biting at them. “I know I want – things,” he breathed between kisses. “I know I want to touch you, want to get as close to you as I can – Fasta Vass, Hawke, I want you, and I don’t know how to take you.”

The plain frustration in Fenris’s voice brought a sympathetic smile to Hawke’s face. He lifted his hands and cupped Fenris’s face, pulling him in for a more gentle kiss before murmuring, “Why don’t you lie down and get comfortable, and I’ll show you?”

Fenris looked almost relieved. He crawled off of Hawke and flopped down on the bed, positioning himself carefully against Hawke’s pillows and blankets. His head rested close to the headboard, hair spilled across the linens like molten silver.

For a moment, all Hawke could do was stare at him. He needed a few seconds to bask in how incredibly attractive Fenris looked in that moment.

He crawled up the bed, positioning his knees on either side of Fenris’s lean hips, leaning down to kiss him again.

The candles were burning low in Hawke’s chamber, casting dim golden light over the both of them. Hawke was at a loss for what to do first, his urgency had faded now that Fenris was beneath him, almost naked, panting and giving him full permission to do… well, anything.

And he wanted to do _everything_ with Fenris.

Hawke shifted his body down the bed in slow, languid movements as he peppered kisses on the dark skin between Fenris’s tattoos, against his chest and then down his belly, against his hip. He hooked his fingers into Fenris’s pants, glancing up at him one more time to make sure he was ready before slowly dragging them down.

Fenris was hard, the skin here flushed darker, every bit as gorgeous as the rest of him. Once again Hawke found himself stunned into silent admiration. Fenris’s skin was as smooth here as the rest of his body, and Hawke was relieved to see that the pale lines of lyrium that coiled across Fenris’s belly skirted down his thighs, avoiding the rigid shaft between them. He wouldn’t have liked the implications if Fenris’s most intimate parts had also been marked.

Hawke brushed his fingers gently up the inside of Fenris’s thigh, drawing a shudder out of him. When his fingertips danced over a silver line of lyrium, Fenris groaned and his cock twitched against his tense stomach. Hawke smiled up at the elf.

“I always wondered if it was true, what they say about elves.” He brushed his lips up the inside of Fenris‘s thigh. “You’re smooth all over. Like a silk pillow.”

 _“ … Vishante Kaffas,_ Hawke,” Fenris breathed.

Hawke kissed the crease where Fenris’s leg met his body, that firm cock inches from his face. “An angry, dangerous pillow, but all the same.”

Fenris shot a breathless glare at him. _“Hawke – ”_

Hawke pressed his next kiss to the base of Fenris’s cock, sucking tenderly on the sensitive skin.

Fenris choked out a shout of alarm, his fingers fisting roughly in Hawke’s dark hair. _“Fasta fucking Vass shit Vishante Kaffas – ”_

Hawke chuckled against Fenris’s cock before licking a slow line up the shaft. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, hummed against the leaking slit, swirling his tongue over it. He gave Fenris one more smirk before slipping his lips over the flushed head, sucking it into his mouth with a hungry murmur.

Fenris’s powerful legs kicked against the bed and he shouted Hawke’s name, his voice cracking on another Tevinter swear. Hawke moaned soflty around his lover, sucking. Fenris shoved him away suddenly with a barked curse.

 _“Kaffas,_ Hawke, what are you – ” His chest was heaving, his face flushed as Hawke stared up at him. “ – that’s – with your _mouth – ”_

Hawke had to laugh. “Should I stop?”

Fenris was staring at him in a flushed combination of utter bewilderment and arousal. Hawke’s smile softened and he rubbed his hand gently over Fenris’s cock, drawing a shudder from the man.

“It’s a way for lovers to pleasure each other,” he explained gently. “But if you don’t enjoy it, there are other ways.”

“I never said I don’t enjoy – ” Fenris swallowed. “ … _Other_ ways?”

Hawke chuckled and pressed a kiss to the inside of Fenris’s thigh. “One thing at a time,” he promised before moving back to the man’s stiff arousal.

Fenris panted, knuckles white where he was grabbing the sheets, as Hawke slowly let his tongue trace from the base to the tip of the man’s cock. When he slipped the head into his mouth, suckling gently, Fenris let out a low groan and his hips rolled. Hawke worked Fenris’s shaft slowly, enjoying it, taking his time. Since he’d arrived in Kirkwall, one catastrophe after another had meant he hadn’t rolled in the sheets with someone in… Maker’s breath, he didn’t know how long. This, having a moaning lover under him, warm bare skin against his, so responsive to his hands and his mouth, was absolute bliss. Hawke relaxed his throat, letting the elf push in deeper, and Fenris let out a shocked gasp.

“H-Hawke – ”

Fenris’s cock was heavy on Hawke’s tongue, thick and warm, bittersweet and silky. Hawke savored it like a fine ale, slow tastes at first, light flicks of his tongue, then dragging his lips from the base of Fenris’s cock onto the tip before diving down again, growing in speed and hunger until he was gulping the man down, tense fingers gripping elf’s hips.

Fenris seemed to have been rendered boneless and incoherent by Hawke’s mouth. His Tevinter curses had dissolved into shapeless moans and gasps and shouts, his shaking legs wrapped around Hawke’s body, desperate hands holding him in place. The only movements he seemed capable of making were shaky twitches and short, needy thrusts into Hawke’s mouth. 

“H-Hawke – I’m – ”

The tattoos under Hawke’s hands heated, glowing to violent life. Fenris’s whole body shuddered and he threw his head back against the pillows with a noise that was more snarl than scream. Hawke dove down on him, pinning the elf’s jerking hips in place, gulping thirstily until Fenris was a limp, shaking mess on the sheets.

Hawke let Fenris slip out of his mouth and gasped in air. He panted up at his exhausted partner.

“So, how was your first time?”

Fenris propped himself up on his arms, breathing heavily, his face flushed and his whole body glinting with sweat in the candle light. “ … Your beard tickles,” he grunted.

Hawke chuckled, moving up Fenris’s body to give the man a kiss. Fenris cupped Hawke’s face with a groan, tonguing open his mouth before pulling back with a startled grunt.

“Is that what I taste like?” he panted.

“It’s, ah, an acquired taste,” Hawke confessed. He leaned down to nuzzle Fenris’s neck. “If you prefer, you can use your hand instead – ”

Fenris groaned low in his throat and pulled Hawke down on top of him and into another deep kiss, bare bodies pressed together, nothing separating them but Hawke’s soft linen pants. He rolled them over suddenly, pinning Hawke to the mattress with combat-trained hands, still devouring his lips. 

“My turn,” he growled into Hawke’s breathless mouth.

Fenris pulled back, kneeling above Hawke on all fours. His eyes raked down the man’s body slowly, dragging from his flushed face over his heaving chest, down his tense stomach, to the bulge in his pants. Hawke swallowed hard, his skin tingling under the searing heat of Fenris’s gaze.

Fenris’s gaze snapped back up. His arm muscles rippled as he took a rough fistful of Hawke’s pants and yanked, the seams popping open, the thin linen ripping like wet parchment until he was holding the shredded remains of Hawke’s pants in his fist, leaving Hawke exposed to his eyes.

“You said you would teach me how to take you.” Fenris’s voice was a low, hungry rumble. He tossed the ruined shreds of fabric away. “And you have taught me. _My. Turn.”_

“ … Y-yes sir,” Hawke rasped, his voice cracking.

Fenris shifted down the bed and hiked one of Hawke’s legs over his shoulder, pressing his teeth against the inside of Hawke’s thigh in a teasing bite. He eyed Hawke’s cock hungrily as he brushed his fingers over the twitching shaft.

Hawke groaned and slipped his fingers into Fenris’s hair. “Fenris – ”

Fenris’s eyes shot back up to Hawke’s own, and he smiled. “Humans. You’re so… fuzzy.”

“Fenris – ”

Fenris lowered his head and slipped his lips over Hawke’s shaft with a hungry groan, diving down on him, warm and wet and sucking. Hawke gasped and his toes curled against the sheets.

“Maker’s _breath_ Fenris – ” Hawke shuddered as Fenris laved a tongue over his cock, inexperienced but enthusiastic, hot movements of tongue and lips and teeth and – “Fenris, _shit – ”_

The elf’s eyebrows were pushed together in concentration, his hands harsh on Hawke’s thighs, his mouth learning the shape of Hawke’s cock with slow strokes and gentle laps that were making Hawke’s eyes roll.

“Y-you’re a quick study – ” Hawke groaned, his fingers working through Fenris’s soft hair as the elf blew him like he was on a divine mission to make Hawke shoot his load in under a minute. “Y-you don’t have to – ah – quite as fast – if you don’t – aaah great _Andraste_ Fenris – ”

Fenris replaced his mouth with one hand, stroking Hawke with slow, tight pumps as he licked his lips and grinned.

“I believe I understand why you enjoy doing this,” he teased.

“Y-yeah?” Hawke managed, hissing in a breath when the elf’s thumb caught under the head, rubbing against the sensitive tip before his tongue joined in again. Hawke shuddered as he was once again enveloped in the softness of Fenris’ cheeks and tongue, groaning quietly. It had been a while, _god,_ Hawke hadn’t felt pleasure like this since Lothering was still standing.

Fenris pulled back to tease his lips and tongue over the sensitive head of Hawke’s dick, a low growl escaping him, before he dove down again. Hawke gasped and his legs twitched as Fenris pushed deeper, swallowing him into the silky heat of his throat. Hawke’s hands were trembling in Fenris’ hair by the time the elf pulled back, and he took in a steadying breath before trying words again.

“You d-don’t have to fit it all in,” Hawke commented with a half-laugh, “It’s okay if you – _ah!”_

He was choked into silence when Fenris swallowed him completely.

“Fenris, fuck, I’m going to – fuck – you should – ”

Fenris pulled his mouth off of Hawke, still working the shaft with his hand, smirking up at the man with flushed, fuck-slicked lips. “Good.”

When he lowered his head again and sucked Hawke down, pinning Hawke’s hips in place and working his lips all the way down to the base, Hawke couldn’t hold back any more. His back arched and he fisted his hands in Fenris’s hair with a gasp as he came, a hot tingle that started in his belly and spread up his spine and down his legs, gushing hot and wet down Fenris’s throat.

Fenris hummed around him and swallowed, pulling back with a satisfied smile.

“I enjoy making you do that.” He brushed his hand up Hawke’s thigh, his smile softening. “There is… a lot I enjoy about you.”

Panting, Hawke pushed himself upright and cupped his hand around the back of the elf’s head, pulling him into a slow kiss. He hummed against Fenris’s soft lips, the tingles of pleasure in his body fading into a soft, heavy contentment. 

He kept his face close when he broke the kiss, breathing against his lover’s lips.

“Stay here tonight,” he whispered.

Fenris brushed his fingers down Hawke’s cheek. “Is that… I confess I’m not sure how this works.”

Hawke laughed tiredly. “It works however you want it to work.”

“Then I would like to stay.” Fenris leaned in again. “I’d like to stay as long as you’ll have me, Hawke.”

Their lips met again. Hawke’s eyes slid closed and he allowed himself to get lost in the feeling. There was too much death in his life, too many shadows, too many sharp edges. It was almost surreal to be experiencing something that was only soft, only good. He never wanted to let it go.

He pulled Fenris gently down on the bed with him without breaking the kiss. The room was warm from the fireplace and the heat of two aroused bodies, so he didn’t bother to drag the blankets over them, pressing himself close to his lover on the velvet spread and letting his entire body and mind, for once, relax.

Fenris pulled back from the kiss with a soft, startled noise, blinking at him. Hawke managed a tired chuckle.

“What’s wrong?”

Fenris’s eyes were wide like he’d seen a ghost. He shook his head, wrapping an arm around his lover and pulling him close again. “ … Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” He kissed Hawke’s forehead. “ … Thank you.”

 _Anytime,_ Hawke almost said. But a sleepy peace was settling over his mind. Instead of saying anything, he just smiled and nuzzled into Fenris’s chest, letting the soft blanket of slumber fall over him.

—-

The bed felt cooler. Hawke grunted softly in his sleep and opened his eyes, blinking at the empty space on the bed next to him. He rolled over quickly, and saw Fenris standing by the crackling fire, facing away.

The man was dressed again, going so far as to be armed and armored, his heavy greatsword slung on his back like he was expecting to fight demons on his way out.

Hawke sat up, something anxious twisting in his stomach. “ … Was it _that_ bad?” he joked, forcing a smile.

Fenris turned to face him, looking distressed. “I’m sorry, it was not… it was fine – ” He heaved a deep sigh, his gaze dropping to the floor before he lifted his eyes to meet Hawke’s. “ … No, that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed.”

Hawke frowned, sitting up on the bed. “ … Did we move too fast?”

“It’s not that.” Fenris’s gaze dropped away and he paced slowly across the thick carpets in front of the fireplace. “ … I began to remember. My life before. Just… flashes.”

Hawke stomach dropped. “What… what do you mean?”

Numbly, Fenris raised his gauntlet-clad hand, touching one finger to the markings on his throat. “When my master put these on me… it wiped my mind. I have no memories of who I was before that, where I might have come from, what I did. If… if I had any family.”

Hawke rubbed a hand through his hair, staring at the floor. “ … I had no idea, Fenris. I… I’m sorry.”

“Something about you, something about – _this_ –” There was plain agitation in Fenris’s voice as he paced. “It started to come back. I saw – I _know_ I saw things I had never remembered before, but now I – ” His head dropped in defeat, his tense movements halting. “ … It’s gone again. Just like it was before.”

There was an emptiness in Fenris’s voice that made Hawke’s chest ache. He wanted to say something, but there weren’t words.

“It’s too much. This is too fast. I cannot… ” Fenris sighed. “ … I cannot do this.”

No memories. Hawke stared at the floor, stunned. He couldn’t imagine it. His own past was shattered, ripped to bloody ribbons in front of him, but at least he remembered what it had been like before all the death. Fenris just… didn’t know. He had nothing before the marks, before the man who branded him and made him a slave, left him abandoned on a war-torn shore, his feet sinking into the muck –

Something in Hawke’s mind clicked. He stood up suddenly.

“Wait.” Without bothering to get any clothes, Hawke strode to Fenris’s side. “You don’t remember anything of your childhood?”

Fenris was looking at him warily. “ … Not until today. And then it was gone again. I’ve tried so hard to remember, so many times, but it’s just… blank.” He tore his gaze away with a wince of pain. “Hawke, I know you want me to stay, I know how you feel, but please don’t make this harder than it has to be – ”

“Fenris, I think _I_ remember your childhood.”

Fenris’s gaze snapped up. He looked like he was scared to breathe, his eyes locked on Hawke’s like they were the only thing grounding him. “Wh… what?”

Hawke found Fenris’s armored hand and clasped it in his own bare one, pressing their palms together. “The soulmate curse, when we first touched. I saw flashes of your past.”

Fenris’s hand clenched against Hawke’s. “ … A-are you certain?”

Hawke shut his eyes, trying to remember. “ … There was a beach, cold and dark and foggy… there was a battle there, you got left behind – ”

Fenris yanked Hawke closer, gasping the man’s hand almost painfully. “That was the day Danarius abandoned me, the day I escaped – there wasn’t room on the ship to save another worthless slave – ” He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “ … Do… do you remember anything else?”

“Fenris… ” Hawke took a breath. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, right now? I don’t want to hurt you any more – ”

“Hawke, _please,”_ Fenris ground out.

Hawke nodded tensely, closing his eyes again. “ … There was a courtyard,” he began. “It was warm and sunny, and while your mother worked, you played in the gardens with your… your sister.”

Fenris’s breath caught. “I… I have a sister?”

“She called out to you, laughing. She called you… ” Hawke squeezed Fenris’s armored hand, trying to focus. He could remember it all again, the cloying perfume of flowers, the warm breeze, the girl’s ringing laughter as she cried out… He opened his eyes, meeting Fenris’s. “Leto. Your name is Leto.”

Fenris stared at him for a moment, unable to speak. His eyes dropped away and he lifted a hand to his own face as if noticing it for the first time. “ … I… I had a name before this.”

Hawke’s palm was tingling where it was pressed against Fenris’s, the twisting lines of the soulmate scar burning. He cupped Fenris’s face, turning the elf’s eyes back towards his own.

“You got the lyrium scars to save them.” The words spilled out of Hawke as fast as the memories could enter his head, filling the room so they would never be forgotten again. “You and your mother and sister were all slaves together, and you agreed, you _fought_ for the right to be branded with lyrium, and in exchange your master set them free. He set them _free.”_

There was a wetness forming at the corners of Fenris’s eyes, his hand shaking in Hawke’s own. Hawke brushed his thumb against Fenris’s cheek, wiping a tear away.

“You saved them, Fenris,” he murmured.

With the suddenness of a storm, Fenris wrapped an arm around Hawke’s bare body and yanked him close, trembling and squeezing him tight as he pressed his face into Hawke’s neck.

“Thank you,” he choked out. His voice was thick and shaking. “I’ve tried to remember for so long, I – thank you so much.”

Hawke grunted, squirming in the elf’s powerful hold. “You’re welcome, but – armor, pointy,” he begged. 

Fenris loosened his grip, holding Hawke at arm’s length and smiling at him in a way that Hawke had never seen him smile. His heart lifted, but he tried to fight the feeling down, clearing his throat and clapping his hand against Fenris’s shoulder.

“I know this is a lot for you, and we didn’t even _meet_ that long ago,” he said quickly, wanting to get the words out before he lost his resolve. “I simply – I’m not trying to make you stay, Fenris, I just wanted you to have that. If all of this is too much – ”

He was silenced as an armored hand yanked him into a kiss. Hawke’s wide eyes fluttered closed and he melted into it, not even caring that he was still naked and Fenris’s armor was still, incidentally, pointy.

Fenris pulled back a scant inch, his nose still bumping against Hawke’s. “I would like to stay,” he murmured. His mouth twitched in a quick smile. “I’d like to stay as long as you’ll have me, Hawke.”

Even as Hawke brushed his hand through Fenris’s white hair and pulled him into another slow, deep kiss, he still wasn’t sure about soulmates. Maybe Andraste was right, or maybe this all would have worked out without any silly mark on his hand. 

But love? He could believe in that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Would you like us to write something like this for you? Come either of our tumblrs (wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com or amatuskadanvhenan.tumblr.com) for information on commissions! Hope you enjoyed xox


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